Chapter Sixty-One: The Surprise Attack

In the early morning, the sky was dim and shrouded in mist, tinged with traces of rain that mingled with the surrounding earth.

On a vast plain, a heavy downpour drenched the land; within a camp, several figures stood in silence.

“Your Highness, enemy traces have been discovered half a day’s journey from here,” someone reported from the side.

“Have you been detected?” Adis looked at him and nodded slightly.

“No. Their army seems quite lax, with few scouts. Our priests went unnoticed.”

Adis understood. To those unfamiliar with the ways of the priesthood in this era, their methods were beyond imagination. However skilled a scout might be, as long as they remained human, discovery was possible. But for priests devoted to the god of nature, their means of reconnaissance were many and subtle. Whether communing with flora or directing small creatures with divine arts, their surveillance techniques were exceptional—and nearly impossible to guard against. Even a single ant or a tree could betray an army’s movement.

“Your Highness, the enemy has just arrived and is currently setting up camp to shelter from the rain. Allow me to take my two thousand tribesmen and launch a surprise attack! We can surely crush them now.”

The scene fell silent. After a moment, another voice spoke.

“Your Highness, Lord Carter’s two thousand warriors wear vine armor strengthened by divine arts. The rain cannot erode it, and their fighting prowess remains undiminished in this downpour. It is the perfect moment for an assault.” Beside him, Priest Bill, clad in a yellow robe with faint ripples of divine power, bowed slightly.

“Very well!” Adis nodded. “Carter, take your two thousand and strike their camp at once.”

“Nadir!” He turned to Nadir before him. “Take a hundred cavalry and follow Carter’s force. Seize the right moment and act as you see fit.”

“Yes!” Nadir replied.

Immediately, the army, refreshed from rest, began to move, heading toward the enemy under the cover of morning rain.

There was no elaborate display, no imagined glory. To Adis, the most direct approach was to press forward while the enemy was unsettled.

Carter’s tribesmen were all followers of the god of nature, each versed in divine arts; many had attained the rank of white-robed priest. Under divine augmentation, they swiftly crossed dozens of miles. Near noon, shadows began to materialize ahead, their presence amplified by divine arts.

Sensing the enemy’s movements, Carter and his men were elated.

The rain had come so suddenly that, despite hastily erected tents, the enemy’s camp was ill-prepared for the storm. Some lords had stationed their soldiers in more sheltered spots, scattering the encampment. The established tents were clearly divided, the camp appearing less a unified force than an assembly of ragtag troops.

Seeing this, Carter rejoiced. He cautiously sensed the surroundings, drawing upon the divine power within him.

The results were as expected—no hidden troops detected. With this, a murderous gleam grew in Carter’s eyes, his thick fur lending him a commanding presence.

“Charge straight in!” he roared.

His orders were passed down by several sub-leaders. In the hush, two thousand burly, savage warriors advanced silently, hearts murmuring prayers to the god of nature.

“O great god of nature, Adis, grant us victory over our foes!”

The prayers of two thousand souls coalesced into a ripple, reaching some unknown realm.

In a vast, mysterious domain of nature, an ancient tree stood silent. Sensing the prayer, it swayed a branch, releasing a touch of pure energy in response—an unseen blessing.

And in that unseen realm, a faint purple aura enveloped the gathered martial spirit, causing it to surge and utterly overwhelm the enemy's feeble presence. As the suppression deepened, Carter led his men into the camp, then ceased to hide his intent.

“Divine arts!” he commanded.

At his signal, priests among them began to pray, unleashing their long-prepared spells. Bits of divine power coalesced, shaped by the abundant water element in the surroundings, manifesting as spells.

Suddenly, dozens of massive water elementals appeared in the camp. Soldiers stared in shock as the elementals attacked.

A knight charged, battle energy flickering, hacking off an elemental’s arm. Yet, in a startling display, the severed limb regenerated in the rain, restored in moments, and the elemental struck back.

“What manner of monster is this?” Countless voices cried in terror, watching as the water elementals recovered endlessly.

With the elementals rampaging, chaos engulfed the enemy camp.

Carter sneered, seizing the moment of distraction to lead the charge, the brilliance of divine arts blazing openly.

“Kill!” shouted his warriors.

The lords ahead were horrified. Unnoticed, a vast army had arrived, assaulting their camp.

“A surprise attack in the rain? How is this possible?” Amidst the carnage, the lords’ astonished voices rang out.

As the two sides clashed at close quarters, the barbarian warriors clearly held the advantage in the rain.

A knight slashed at a barbarian with his sword, but a flash of divine energy stopped him—the blade stuck in the vine armor, unyielding. It felt less like striking vine than striking fine steel.

Before he could recover, water elementals gathered; a sharp ice blade struck him, sending him flying, water droplets freezing into ice around a great wound.

Scenes like this unfolded across the field. In the rain, divine arts were far easier to wield than battle energy, giving the priests the upper hand.

Carter was particularly conspicuous, roaring as he cleaved a knight in two, his blood-stained fur making him a fearsome sight in the storm.

Above, martial spirits collided violently, locked in stalemate.

In the rear, Count Artis leapt up, staring forward. “What’s happening? Why do I hear the sounds of battle?”

A soldier entered. “My lord, the vanguard is under surprise attack and engaged in combat!”

“What?” Artis was shocked. “Send orders—call the lords from the rear to assist!”

He rushed out, seeing the rain soaked with flashes of light—the radiance of divine arts.

Sensing it, his expression darkened, intent on leading his men to aid the front.

But then, the sound of hooves thundered from afar.

He turned, puzzled.

A cavalry unit, over a hundred strong, rampaged along the flank, divine energy flickering wildly as they shattered a lord’s camp.

It was Nadir. Having found the enemy’s camp weaker than expected, he decisively led his hundred riders around the front, striking the exposed flank and charging toward Artis at the center.

These hundred were extraordinary. In this world, horses were precious, reserved for nobility. Adis had handpicked these men—all seasoned white-robed priests. Their combined might broke through several layers of defense, closing on Artis.

“One hundred knights?” Artis felt a chill. In this expedition, all knights combined numbered only five hundred; true knights were fewer than a hundred, scattered among the lords.

“My lord, they’re coming for us!” someone shouted.

Artis looked back amid the chaos; the enemy cavalry’s intent was clear—their course aimed straight at him.

He was furious. “How dare they!”

“Knights, mount up! Follow me!” He sneered, battle energy swirling visibly around his armor.

Yet, for lack of preparation, only a dozen knights gathered around him. Unconcerned, he led them in a charge.

In an instant, the two forces collided. Nadir felt an overwhelming force surge from ahead.

He saw Count Artis, battle energy swelling, wielding countless blades of energy in a terrifying display. Most were aimed at him.

His expression changed; he met the attack with the battle energy of a great knight, barely parrying several blows.

But next, more blades struck. With a dull thud, a shield of divine power enveloped him.

Artis, surprised, looked past him—there, countless priests prayed, bolstering his defenses.

He exclaimed, “All priests?”

In that moment of distraction, Nadir darted away.

“Trying to escape?” Artis roared, slashing again. Battle energy shattered layers of protection, felling several priests.

Then, countless ice blades swept toward him, interwoven with divine arts, trapping him for a moment.

Nadir clutched his chest, shaken. Above him, a golden fate thread danced wildly, altered by a purple aura.

After this, Nadir no longer sought to slay his foe, instead leading his cavalry in chaotic sweeps, disrupting the enemy.

Meanwhile, Adis and the priesthood watched the turmoil in the camp, their gaze growing colder.

He sensed that the enemy’s martial spirit in the sky was completely suppressed, held together only by a faint gold thread of destiny at the center.

He lifted his head, his moon-white royal robe and hair drenched by the rain, his handsome face radiating a captivating aura in the night, standing like a god or demon, his eyes chilling.

He waved his hand, personally leading the advance.

At once, their martial spirit surged, veiled in purple aura. The opposing force, struggling to hold on, let out a mournful cry and finally collapsed.